The Wives of Adam
by TheLadyPendragon
Summary: Adam has this innocent aura that's just asking to be corrupted. His brothers can't protect him forever. Very dark fic. Adam/Lilith, Adam/Mother of All Monsters.


**A/N: **This is a really weird thing for me to write for a number of reasons. A) I rarely, if ever, write het, unless it's a side-pairing; B) I really don't even like these pairings, and I especially don't like the MoM, from what we've seen of her in canon so far; C) I don't usually venture out of my gratuitous land of fluff; and D) I honest to Chuck creeped myself out while writing this (in fact, this document is even labeled as ''), but that's just what SPN fandom does to me, I suppose. Sorry in advance if I disturb you as much as I did myself. :P

**Title:** The Wives of Adam  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_, and the only profit I make from this is scaring the crap out of myself. This is Kripke's world - we're all just living in it. Still, don't replicate my ridiculous writing without permission.  
**Warnings:** T for het, graphic violence, planned infanticide, some consent issues, harsh language, twisted religious imagery, and implied main character death. Triggery content abound. Heavy spoilers for all seasons, especially four and six. This is a work of fiction, and in no way encourages emulation of the actions that take place in this work. Really, _don't_ do it.  
**Other Notes:** ~3039. Adam/Lilith and Adam/Mother of All Monsters. I know, so much crack, but inspired from the religious derivation of these characters' names. Don't worry, title aside, no wedding bells actually toll.  
**Summary: **Adam has this innocent aura that's just asking to be corrupted. His brothers can't protect him forever.

* * *

The Wives of Adam

* * *

She was at a hospital outside of some trivial, ant-farm of a town, not even bothering to take note of its name, with the palm of one hand pressed against the glass that separated hopeful parents from their newborn young. It was the neonatal ward, and it had become _so hard_ for her to pick.

The sickly, premature one in its little glass bubble was out of the question, although she could smell the unmistakable scent of drugs wafting off of it. Its little crackhead whore of a mother probably wouldn't even care if she just swept in and took it, but no, she didn't operate based on what _others_ wanted.

The pudgy little ten-pounder was far more likely a choice, its cheeks rose red and round, its big brown eyes blinking back at her almost suspiciously.

The theory of a child's instincts being more honed, more responsive to threats, than an adult's was even more true of infants. They knew whose arms to cry in, and in whose to coo and bat their pretty little eyes, as well.

She hummed serenely under her breath, her decision made, and began her short walk towards the door that would let her into the candy store, so to speak.

The squeak of sneaker-clad feet on linoleum floors caused her to whip around, her arm outstretched to snap the neck of whatever threat, oblivious or not, had interrupted her mealtime.

A shock of blond hair and pale blue eyes made her pause, a boy of perhaps eighteen staring back at her, a fawn caught in the headlights of a semi.

"Um, hi," he greeted eventually, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

A lazy smirk crawled across her face, almost forced. "Hello," she replied, to the boy whose eyes were almost the same shade as the sky above the garden of Eden, his face all too familiar. She had never thought she'd see _him_ again. Her arm dropped heavily to her side.

He swallowed, feeling the tension in the air, and her eyes caught the motion, latched onto the pale column of his fragile neck, watching his Adam's apple bob – and, _ah_, what an ironic choice of words.

"You're not a nurse," he observed, sweeping his eyes over her body analytically, noting the white dress that flowed to a stop just above her knees. She leaned back against the glass wall, her body spread taut, suddenly wanting to put on a show for him, this child who made her inhuman heart pump. He swallowed again, then cleared his throat, inciting an reply.

"No, I'm not." The answer was playful, her tone an inquiry of, 'What are you going to do about it?'

He laughed nervously, his tongue slipping out to brush against his lips like a puppy's. "That's okay. I come here to visit my mom whenever I'm home from school, but it's nice to just stop and look at them sometimes." He indicated the tiny angels in their ward, still begging for her to rip off their pure wings. "They're so...innocent. They don't know yet that the world is bad, and you kind of hope that they never will, but you know you were like them once, and _you_ found out, so it's only wishful thinking."

She quirked a fair brow at him, delighted by the blush that painted his face at the scrutiny, and resisted the urge to tell him he was wrong. They already knew, the children, though it seemed he didn't know well enough. She didn't care about them anymore, though – now she wanted to bury her fingers in _his _delicate feathers and twist until those beautiful eyes trickled raindrops. It never rained in Eden, you see.

He blinked, coming out of his thoughtful melancholy, and took a hesitant step closer to her, unaware of the danger. He was near enough that she could extend her hand and stroke his cheek, play connect the dots with his adorable freckles, if she wanted to.

"Unless you're a mother?" he asked, not noticing how her fingers twitched for him. "Is one of them yours?" He stopped when they were side by side, looking away from her to shoot silly grins at the babies. They smiled back, surprisingly, drawn by his siren-song aura, their little fingers grasping air for him, as desperate as hers. It was no surprise – he had nearly as pure a soul as them, so little tarnish beyond a few dark spots, not at all like the soon-to-be righteous man's.

She sniffed, wanting that soul all for herself, so she glowered through the glass, her irises abruptly bleeding white. The infants blanched, their birdlike mouths puckering to hold back raucous cries, and while the boy offered a murmur of confused discontent, he didn't seem to notice the part she played. She bared her teeth in a ferocious sneer, their ghostly reflections gleaming small and white.

"That one," she said carelessly, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the glass to point at a random baby. Ironically, the frightened creature had a thin face, huge blue eyes and curling blond hair. She wondered if her companion had looked like that when first born, less than twenty years ago.

His mouth formed a perfect 'o', before crooking to one side cheerfully. "He's beautiful." His gaze flicked sideways to meet hers. "Where's his dad, if you don't mind me asking?" he added, slightly more apprehensive now.

"He doesn't have one," came the easy reply. His eyes became unexpectedly glassy in response, filled with a curious amount of sadness, but she didn't care anymore. This ploy had gone on for too long, was no longer entertaining. She hated waiting with a passion. Her body rotated to face his.

"W-what?" he stuttered, when her hands closed around his bony shoulders, suddenly too strong for a woman of her stature, and pushed him roughly into the clear wall, shaking it in its hinges. She stalled his startled inquiries with a deep kiss, the heels her vessel was wearing helping her to reach and devour his soft mouth.

It was probably nothing like he was used to, touching girls his age with shy, fumbling hands, his eyes and lips bashful and beautiful and much too worthy for _them_. His arms, flailing behind her, eventually came to rest around her waist, barely touching, not trying to scrunch up the material of her dress or to pull her forward – not doing anything except letting her have all the control she'd always desired. He submitted to her completely, allowing her claws to tear at his clothes, letting her force him closer and closer till he was flush up against her, two beings made one.

Her mouth curved up victoriously against his. This was what he wouldn't give her, all those many years ago, when they had both been molded from the earth. She'd wanted equality then, and he gave her supremacy now.

He began whimpering against her, his mouth sucking desperately for the air she refused to grant him, but she didn't stop – not until she heard a woman's voice call, "Adam, sweetheart? Where'd you run off to, baby?"

Then, she released him with a growl, angered that any woman, even one with only motherly affection and intentions seeping from her, would ask for her boy – her _Adam_, back again from the dead to gift himself to her. The potency behind her shove caused him to stumble over his feet, down to his knees, and he stared up at her with huge, rounded eyes, his pupils dilated to display even more of that crystalline hue. Without sparing him a final glance, she snapped her stolen body around and stalked away, her heels clicking loudly in the otherwise hushed ward.

As she left the hospital behind, she passed a harried-looking blond woman in nurse's scrubs, who frowned at her mistrustfully. The woman went ignored, but the boy wasn't forgotten – not by a long-shot.

Later, when she met up with Sam Winchester, she wondered if he'd kiss the same. Unfortunately, he never gave her the chance to find out.

* * *

The lights in the alcohol serving strip-club were dim, the faces of its patrons toned sepia and gold, interspersed with flashes of color from the strobe-lights above.

All three Winchester brothers were awkwardly silent at first, occupying a tiny booth in the center, till a scantily clad waitress caught Dean's eye from across the dance-floor and winked.

He jerked his gaze from her, practically drinking in her hourglass body, to his brothers, assessing his options. After a moment, he declared, "Well, I'm out," his decision clearly made. His chair scraped back, screeching annoyingly in his hurry.

Sam and Adam watched him go, the former fondly exasperated and the latter detached, his hand curled around the still untouched beer he'd ordered.

"You'll get used to him eventually," Sam said, after a moment had passed.

Adam merely shrugged and traced the tip of one long finger around the brim of his bottle. Since his return from Hell, he didn't bother to speak to either of his siblings much, if at all. Mostly, he just seemed lost in his own thoughts – endless, twilight thoughts that masked his face with sudden expressions of agony, filled his nights with horror, and stopped him dead in his tracks on more than one occasion.

After a hunt gone wrong in Indiana, where he'd almost been gored by a wendigo, they had decided to dump him at Bobby's for a while, for his own safety, but the old hunter claimed that doing so was only making Adam worse – that he refused to leave his designated room, refused to eat or drink, and that he would _die_ if he kept it up. They'd hoped that this, only a pick up hustling trip, would do him some good.

Sam watched him earnestly now, pleading with any higher force listening to see that promised change in his baby brother, but Adam was riveted on the tablecloth as if it held all the secrets of the universe, content to pretend he was all alone in the crowded establishment.

The tall man sighed, then lifted up one of his hands to wave down a waiter who wore too tight short-shorts. He determinedly _didn't_ look down past the man's burly chest when he said, "Could you please bring my little brother a sandwich? Thanks." The man nodded and walked away, his hips sashaying dramatically to catch attention, but Adam didn't even notice, which only worried Sam more. "Adam... Hey, Adam!" he called, and when the boy finally snapped out of his stupor, he continued, "I'm gonna head over to the pool table, buddy. Since Dean's distracted, _someone_ has to do the real work, huh? We're running on empty, you know."

Adam didn't seem to get that he was joking, his blue eyes blinking unseeingly up at his older brother, and Sam sighed, waiting till the flamboyant waiter returned and placed the sandwich in front of his brother before he got up, letting his large hand card through Adam's hair once, cautious and gentle, along the way. He received no reaction.

It was only when the Sasquatch of a man was no longer an obstacle that a slight woman slipped in, her white dress fluttering around her willowy frame, so innocuous that it stood out among the leather-clad, writhing bodies around her. She stopped when she was immediately in Adam's line of vision, just in front of his booth.

He tilted his head up. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly, voice hitching from disuse.

She smiled sweetly, apparently taking this as an invitation to sit across from him. "I'm Eve," she chirped.

He grimaced at her, before reluctantly muttering, "Adam." She beamed in reply, as if he'd just given her some amazing gift, and he timidly returned her smile, listening as she began to chatter, trying to absorb him into the conversation in an amicable way. He'd almost forgotten how to do stretch his lips up, mimic joy, but this girl, this _Eve_, was contagiously perky, and Adam had missed feeling anything other than just plain _bad_. This was almost nice.

The next few hours streaked by almost too quickly. The few times Sam distractedly looked back at the two, he grinned, finding the way they huddled together kind of endearing. Neither he nor his older brother, now making out with a different girl than the one he'd initially begun flirting with, this time a dancer, noticed when Eve stood up and proffered her hand to Adam. It was almost an hour after midnight.

"Will you come with me?" she requested dreamily, and he frowned at the extended appendage, before slowly nodding, feeling surprised when she grasped his wrist and effortlessly tugged him to his feet. As they left the bar, he briefly glanced back at his brothers, but they were still too busy with their own tasks to care, so he shrugged.

He almost felt like he _had _to do this, like he owed it to the hunters that had become his family, who grew more and more frustrated with him as the days went by without any progress, and to Eve, too, who glowed delightedly when he accepted her proposal, luring him out with her with such attention that she never once looked away from him. Could it really cause any harm if it made them happy?

The girl pushed him into a dark alley adjacent to the club as soon as the cold air hit them, forcing his back against a spray-painted brick wall with graffiti all over it. He sucked in a breath when her mouth latched hungrily onto his neck, her hands pressing against his chest, feeling how his heart tattooed pleasantly under his clothes.

A few minutes ticked by, before he cautiously extricated himself from her avid grasp. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I-I thought I was ready for this, but I can't." He wasn't ready to let himself go like this again – not after Hell, when his _everything _had been ripped from him, again and again and again, by voracious archangels who could never, _ever _get enough. He didn't think he'd ever be ready again.

Eve tutted gently. "Poor little Adam," she murmured, doe-brown eyes staring up at him through her fan of dark lashes, sad for him. "They just keep hurting you, don't they – your father, your brothers and even those angels you used to pray so hard to." He stiffened, breath catching in shock, and attempted to open his mouth to shout, but the vociferation was stuck in his throat, unable to free itself. Still, she leaned forward to kiss his mouth, just in case, feeling his pretty lips quiver in terror beneath hers, while her hand kept trailing across his chest lovingly. "Mother would never leave you alone when you're sad. She's always been a part of you – been _right here_." She tapped the area directly over his rapidly beating heart.

Her nails punctured his chest, then, wriggling deep inside him, slick with his blood, and those on the other hand dug into his freckled cheek, trapping his screams – the desperate cries for his brothers, for _anyone_, to save him. She didn't stop until her slippery appendage caught purchase on something curving and hard, which she tore straight out of him.

Blood bubbled out of his mouth and into hers, swallowed like his voice, and dripped down her chin to stain her ivory dress. She stepped away from him, and he slumped to the side of a dumpster, unmoving, as she ran tender hands over her gleaming prize, familiarizing herself with its ridges and jagged, damaged end.

Before she left, she stopped at the start of the alleyway and opened her mouth to emit a fake scream. His brothers came running, but she was already gone.

* * *

Dean had found it kind of cute when he first noticed some slip of a girl making goo-goo eyes at his youngest brother, but that didn't compare to his profound relief when Adam actually spoke to her, smiled at her, and even followed her out.

Maybe, just _maybe_, the kid would be okay – he might even start healing after this point. Getting laid never hurt anyone, after all.

Despite that, he still couldn't help some bad gut feeling that formed in his belly, which he'd initially attributed to jealousy. Yes, he could admit that he was jealous over how a random chick could do for his baby brother what his _family –_ what Dean and Sam – could not, but not to the point that he wouldn't happily let it go, if it meant Adam would start snarking and being a brat again. Heck, he'd even pay for the whole wedding ceremony, if they became an actual family after this, rather than the mockery of one that they'd been for a while – comprised of forced ignorance, unanswered questions and hidden pain.

But then he'd heard the scream, and now Adam was dying, making these pitiful little hiccuping sounds that choked up more and more blood out of his slack mouth, and Dean _couldn_'t stop it from spilling down to pool with the rest of it, growing steadily bigger and bigger around them, no matter how hard he thrust his hands against Adam's broken chest, trying to keep his baby brother from falling apart before his very eyes.

Sam had called an ambulance as soon as they'd smelled the heavy iron in the air, and now he just stared down at his brothers with glazed eyes, still unconsciously clutching his cellphone in a huge, helpless fist, while murmuring, "No, no, no..." in an unending litany, like a prayer, though he should have already wised up to the fact that no one up there would ever give a damn about them.

Dean did know, though, his throat already raw from screaming for Castiel to _please _come down, and Adam just kept getting worst, his lips going from pink to blue to white, his blue eyes dimming to a dull gray, his eyelashes dropping like the curtain at the end of a show, the longer the angel spent being too busy to bother with them.

Eventually, someone touched the oldest Winchester's shoulder, squeezing gently, and he let his head, suddenly too heavy to hold up, fall on top of his own coupled hands, over his baby brother's now limp torso, his salty tears mixing with Adam's blood.

The worst thing was, they didn't even know _why_.

* * *

**A/N: **If it's not clear, Eve tears out Adam's rib, because in Jewish and Christian religion, it's believed that Lilith was molded from the same earth as Adam (which is why she says she initially desired equality) and God made Eve from his rib. See, I know this is _unbelievably _weird, but I blame Kripke and Gamble for naming their female big bads Lilith and Eve (AKA, the mother of all monsters). It just seems a bit of a coincidence, doesn't it, that they're both the wives of Adam? So I played with that a little. Speaking of Adam, I firmly believe it's Cas who shows up and saves him at the end, rather than Sam or an EMT just telling Dean to let him go, that it's too late. I know I did some bad stuff to him, but I _do_ love him, and I _don't_ want him to die. ^^;

**R&R: **Jsyk, I'm neither Christian nor Jewish (Lilith being a part of Jewish theology), and I usually try not to write about something as touchy as religion, so please let me know if I'm wrong about anything - I just wiki'd it, you see. :P Feel free to leave a review about that or anything else that might miff/please you.


End file.
